


Spectres of a Shepherd and an Archangel

by Eisen



Series: The Next Cycle [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: As many spoilers as you can reasonably fit in one chapter, Biotics, Control Ending, Cybernetics, Ending Fix, Explosions, F/M, Fluff, Glowing Scars, Might have evolved into something less fluffy, Oh yes. More Spoilers., Post-Mass Effect 3, SRSLY FLUFF, Scars, Shakarian - Freeform, Shooting, Spoilers, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3661665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisen/pseuds/Eisen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody believed the Illusive Man when he said he would control the Reapers - and he couldn't, but in the end it was the only option she could bear to take.</p><p>The post-ME3 Control ending none of you asked for, but hopefully want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PLUGGING IN THE OVERLORD

**Author's Note:**

> Spectres of a Shepherd and an Archangel is a Mass Effect Fanfiction by "Eisen". Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.
> 
> Obviously, ME spoilers. You have been warned.
> 
> I am forever indebted to [coffeeguru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeguru/pseuds/coffeeguru) for her willingness to edit my work.
> 
> Also, my thanks to:  
> [MaryDragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryDragon), for constantly being _the_ best fic writer in existence.  
> [Caek](http://grimmcake.tumblr.com/), [Doodles](http://dissatisfied-doodles.tumblr.com/), [Alyx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therutherfordwife/pseuds/therutherfordwife), [Aelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelie/pseuds/aelie) and [Chant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chanterie) for being cool friends and everything that is good about a fandom.

Breathe in, aim.

Crosshairs hovered over the temple of one of his soon-to-be victims, the highly-customised visor covering his left eye automatically adjusting its zoom to compensate as it tracked the unfortunate man’s vitals and hardsuit status.

Exhale, compress.

The routine was second nature to him after all these years, first ingrained by the barks of the drill instructor and then slowly becoming part of his very being after years of fighting, from the scum of the galaxy to its proclaimed destroyers. Batarian, Salarian, Asari, Human, Turian, Krogan, Drell, Hanar, Quarian, Volus, Elcor, Vorcha, Geth, Yhag, Collectors, Rachni, Thresher Maws and even that Thorian thing. Not to mention Reaper troops; lots and lots of Reaper troops. The list of sentient life that had experienced the wrong end of his art was extensive. So here he was, after all that the universe had thrown at him – Garrus Vakarian still drew breath.

Another thug leaned out of cover. Even this simple, cautious move proved to be fatal. The kick of the rifle as it recoiled from the shot was comfortingly familiar – a friendly reminder that his trusted weapon danced for him still.

And yet, despite being in his element, the Turian sniper was not a happy man. The instinctive actions performed in combat were a comfort, little more, a distraction allowing him to empty his mind of all thoughts. Three years it had been since the Great War had ended, three years since the Reapers had been defeated… three years since she had been taken away from him, nay, _left_ him. Going off to sacrifice herself for a galaxy undeserving of her – much like a figure in that foolish religion she chose to follow.

He had been on the _Normandy_ when it took place, dragged onto the ship battered and bleeding after barely escaping getting crushed by a Mako that Harbinger had torn apart as a child would a toy. He was forced to watch as she ran back out of the cargo bay, running towards death, her promise still ringing in his ears. _No matter what, I will always love you_. She’d accepted death as an inevitability by then, he could hear it in the hollow, hitched tone of her voice. Thus he was forced to watch as the place where she stood got obliterated.

There had been hope at first – she had survived Harbinger – if barely, but as the Citadel opened like a blooming flower, glittering amidst the debris of the battle consuming the vacuum around Earth and firing, a sense of finality wrapped itself around Garrus.

A blinding white light had formed where the Crucible and Reaper-construct met and after what seemed like a short eternity pulsed outward. The wave had expanded rapidly, passing through everything it touched, seemingly benign. Everything stood still for a moment, as if the galaxy was taking a breath, and then, without warning, the Reapers simply left. Turning away from whatever engagements they were in, turned around as a single organism and left.

Garrus’ incorrigible sense of humour whispered that it was all a bit anti-climactic. After all that work, sacrifice and death, the life-harvesting god-machines simply left. As if what they had been doing was some menial task and another one with higher priority took its place.

 _She_ had spoken to them, challenged them. Hell, she’d done the same to their creators and gotten the Leviathans to fight alongside the rest of her impossible alliance. He on the other hand could not begin to fathom how the Reapers worked and could not help but feel a bit slighted - if relieved - at the manner of their departure.

Now here he was again, just like six years prior. She was gone – _dead_ – with the odds of her coming back a second time being less than impossible. The last time Cerberus had done the impossible and brought a corpse back to life, this time there would be no such opportunity. The pro-human group teetered on extinction and was now an avowed enemy of their former project. The galaxy was in shambles, infrastructure having been ravaged by the Reapers and most importantly: no corpse.

The Citadel had been scoured for any signs of the woman that everyone owed their lives to, but they only found the body of Admiral Anderson, a contented smile making his face look as if he were merely taking a rest from all the work it had taken to lead Earth’s resistance. Lying next to the Admiral was the Illusive Man with all indicators pointing to him having taken his own life, evidence that she had passed this way.

Breathe in, hold, aim, exhale, compress.

Garrus’ mandibles flexed into a distinctive grim smile as his target erupted, the armour-piercing round smashing the helmet to pieces and pulverizing its contents.

Now he was Archangel again – protector of the innocent, vanquisher of mercs and all-round badass. The boast would have tumbled forth without hesitation, a cocky grin plastered on his face as he teased. But now…now it meant nothing to him, his entire existence ringing hollow.

Before, he had been seeking his death on Omega - picking a fight against the three most feared mercenary companies. She had come then, when all seemed lost. Weariness of having held out for three days with no rest had taken its toll and his shots became sloppy; the wave of freelancers had actually made it to his door before she stepped out and revealed herself. _Freelancers_ – not even half-trained mercs, oh the mortifying embarrassment. But he’d been too tired to care, too tired to be surprised when she took off her helmet. It took a fucking rocket to his face to make him realise that she was really there, that the Spectre he was barking directives to was not some result of exhaust-induced hallucinations.

She’d returned and thrown his plans to die upside-down, swept him up like the human shaped-hurricane she was and suddenly they were back together, facing down the worst the galaxy could throw at them with a questionable sense of humour and smirk. He’d found that there had been a reason for his spiral into despair other than the death of his team on Omega, a reason that as the fight against the Collectors carried on finally made itself known: that he, gung-ho C-Sec Officer and Vigilante, had fallen for his Commanding Officer. A sentiment she had, in the most awkward-yet-cocky manner, admitted to reciprocating.

That most chaotic and traumatic period the galaxy went through, had also been the best in his life. As much as death knocked on the door with every breath they took, they had both found a reason to live, a reason to fight, a reason to win. Now it was gone.

The gravity-well that had re-forged the galaxy was gone and just as before the crew of the _Normandy_ – now the most famous ship and crew in known space, were pulled apart. Liara had returned to Thessia to assist in the rebuilding of her childhood home, as Tali had returned to Rannoch. Wrex was still stirring up a great deal of noise among the Council, but he kept the newly-cured Krogan in line. Javik had disappeared, something to do with honouring his former team. Vega got swallowed up by the N7 training program and Kaidan had taken up formally training military biotics alongside his Spectre duties.

Only Joker and EDI remained. Garrus would not even try asking what was going on between those two. But he appreciated them still having his back and that his new Spectre status allowed him to snatch the vessel away from the System’s Alliance.

Breathe in, hold, aim, compress.

He was fighting scavenger gangs that had taken up residence in the more ravaged Wards of the Citadel. He knew the cityscape like the back of his hand from his time as a cop, but the devastation wreaked by the Reapers had changed so much – still, he was sure that that apartment she had once been gifted by Anderson was nearby. Something in him felt as if he were drawn there, but another part wanted to stay away – hide away from whatever may re-open old wounds.

Breathe in, hold, aim- Before the Turian sharpshooter could release another deadly round, the wall next to him erupted. The metal plating warped outwards as the pressure of an explosion on the other side tore through.

Flames scorched his armour as shrapnel bounced off, but the force of it still picked him up like a ragdoll and flung him against the opposite wall. His weapon clattered to the ground as his vision exploded into white and he collapsed in a heap.

A voice in his mind was urging him to get up again, but his limbs did not want to respond. He winced and gritted his teeth as pain flared through his body. He tasted something bitter on his tongue, _I wonder if non-dextro blood also tastes bad_ the blissfully distracted thought shot through his mind. Then his vision darkened and he realised someone was standing over him. They were pointing something at him – probably a weapon to finish him off.

A bitter voice in the back of his mind laughed – so this was it? It all felt so familiar, but this time there would be no heart-wrenching cry, no panicky flutter of human hands as they fumbled to apply medi-gel to his ruined face.

This time it would all come to a final end and maybe, just maybe, she would be waiting for him at the bar as she had promised.

The wounded Turian was so absorbed by his acceptance of death that he did not notice how the figure standing over him had started shouting and retreating from his body. How the rapport of weapons began with a new fervour just before the void-sucking noise and whoosh of biotics silenced them.

He only started wondering why he was not dead yet when the figure standing over him screamed, tell-tale traces of a warp suffusing him as microscopic dark energy fields shredded its body’s cells. There was an air-splitting crack as something impacted with the figure and the resulting explosion of two biotic auras connecting forcefully sent it flying out of Garrus’ vision. He heard a sickening thud and clatter as his aggressor hit a wall.

A spark of anger ignited in the core of his being. Who was this that would deny him a swift death? The last time he had held out it had been because of his ignorance of how he felt. This time he was not afforded such a luxury. A suicide mission against an impossibility had changed all that, had taught him that he had purpose, and now he no longer did.

Another figure appeared in his vision, wreathed in a biotic corona such a brilliant blue that it mocked the term ‘dark-energy’ merely by existing as it licked the wielder’s body with phantom flames. This new figure walked up to him with a purposeful stride and slowly knelt down next to him. It reached out to him, placing an armoured – but gentle - hand on the unscarred side of his face.

“Keep this up and you’ll really be needing that face paint.” He could hear the smirk permeating the words.

No… it couldn’t be… the voice had woken something inside him that he had thought long dead – hope.

“Please… don’t leave me…” _again_ , he managed between gasps of air, the words gargling through the blood threatening to drown him as he coughed. A traitorous thought hoping he was not hallucinating. Then darkness claimed him.

_Shepard._

~o~

He opened his eyes, vision swimming as it slowly tried to re-assert itself after whatever his most recent ordeal had been.

He was lying on a surprisingly comfortable bed – far more comfortable than he was used to from his stay aboard the _Normandy_ and the pitiful apartment he’d lived in while working for C-Sec. The room was darkened and his hearing every heartbeat as it thudded through his head was making it difficult for his senses to re-adjust, no matter how sharp they normally were. He tried to sit up, to get a better view of his surroundings, but fell back groaning as every part of his body protested at the action - loudly.

He heard a soft stifled laugh from the direction of the foot of the bed, and recollection flooded him: the fight, the explosion, the wait for death to claim him and then the figure… and finally the voice. He rubbed his eyes, but no, it couldn’t have been. He’d dreamt waking up next to her on an almost daily basis for the past three years and every time it had been a heart-wrenching reminder that he was alone.

The sharp clip of a military walk came from the direction he thought he’d heard the laugh from. Clearly military, there was a character to walking that could be picked up only after years on the parade ground. No doubt some former war vet now working for C-Sec coming to take his statement or something or some more red-tape crap. If he was lucky it would only be the Major coming in to check up on him.

He was contemplating on how to reveal his consciousness to the visitor as the steps drew closer. Clearly it was not Alenko; the footfalls were too light. The back of his eyelids darkened as the person leaned over him, blocking out what little light did enter the room.

What happened next took him completely by surprise. Two fingers, clearly human jabbed playfully into his ribs, between two of the overlapping plates that covered his torso.

“Uhh!” he groaned, flinching. “What the hell?!”

Then it hit him. Her scent. The rich, earthy tang accompanied by the constant smell of ozone – a side effect of her biotics. His eyes shot open. She was standing next to the bed, leaning over him. The darkness made it hard to distinguish her features, but his eyes had adjusted enough to allow him to see the slope of her nose, the curve of her lips and the set of her eyebrows. Just one thing stood out in stark contrast to what he’d known as the woman he loved more than life. Cybernetic eyes glowed a soft cyan in the darkness, just as the same light seemed to escape from cracks between her skin, criss-crossing her cheek and running down her neck and disappearing into the collar of the N7 hoodie she always wore when off-duty.

Thoughts nagged at him as he saw the obvious artificial components. _Is this really her? Is it another clone? Is she indoctrinated? Another Cerberus project?_ But all he managed was a broken cough that caused him to wince. “Nice… upgrades.”

The woman leaning over him grinned. “Fuck you man. It’s been three years and that’s how you greet me?”

Garrus laughed, wincing once more. He’d sure gone through the meatgrinder… again. “Had to make sure, it’s you… wouldn’t want to lose another sushi place that way.”

“Oh come on. You people still going on about that?” There was a hint of amused annoyance in her voice.

“I suppose that explains the rumours about a husk Spectre keeping the Keeper ducts clean.” Garrus managed, watching her for a reaction.

“Oh har har, besides, I don’t look that bad… I hope.”

“Mmm, from here it looks like we still have five point five foot of sexy, with neon lights.”

“Charmer.”

“I try not to estrange my dead-but-maybe-not girlfriend.”

“Smartass.”

There was a short silence as neither knew what more to say. Garrus took the opportunity to try and stand up again, only to find a hand firmly pushing him back.

“Oh no you don’t - I’m not about to come back from computing pi only to have you die on me from getting up too soon after nearly dying… _again_.” The last word hung in the air, uncomfortably reminiscent of his last thought before passing out earlier.

He sighed in resignation, lying back onto the covers so he could look up at her. She had sat down on the bedside after pushing him down, hand still resting on his chest. He looked into the eyes that bore an unsettling similarity to the implants the Illusive Man had had. He reached out with a three-fingered hand to try and cup her cheek, to make sure that it, she, was real and not another waking dream.

She took his hand and pressed it against her face, smiling softly, different from her normally cocky grin. Instead, she looked sad.

“Shepard, I…”

“It’s good to see you too, Garrus,” a single tear ran down her cheek. He caught it with the thumb of the hand she was still pressing to herself.

With strength he did not know he possessed, he reached out with his other arm and pulled her down into a tight embrace, hiding the pain the gesture caused as he pressed her against his wounded torso.

“I suppose you want to know what happened… where I’ve been,” her voice sounded muffled from where she was pressed against him.

“No, I don’t. I don’t care how, or why. All that matters is that you’re back,” _Where you belong_.

“And here I was getting this whole cool explanation together,” he could picture her pouting face perfectly, “Suppose I’ll save it for everyone else, especially maybe that bitch from Westerlund News. I might actually give in to the impulse to punch her at some point. Do you think saving the galaxy has earned me that right at least?”

“Especially maybe?”

“Bite me birdman and would you let go? Us humans are squishy, remember?”

“Nope, not letting go.”

“Ah, the great Commander Shepard goes the way of the Soap Opera – death by lover’s embrace.”

Garrus chuckled, letting her extract herself from his arms. She sat back on the bedside, analysing him.

“Might take a while to get used to that,” he said gesturing at her eyes.

“Tell me about it. Every time I look into the mirror I see the fucking Man.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

“I know, right? They should go back to normal like my old ones after a while, I hope.”

“Well if he looked anything like what you seem to see in the mirror, I might have objected to his death, seeing that psycho clone let go was bad enough.”

“Well never fear, no more dying here. Scout’s honour,” she placed a hand solemnly over her heart as she said this. Garrus couldn’t tell if she was being serious or joking; either way, it was good to hear her say the words. “I suppose I should give it a break -- you’d think once was enough.”

“You say this as if you actually did die, again.” Garrus stated slowly.

“Yup, I’m still trying to decide whether spacing or disintegration is the more painful way to go.”

“Disintegration? But you’re here.”

“Turns out the Illusive Man was right, you _can_ control the Reapers with the Crucible, just well… so long as you’re not indoctrinated. My other options were to fuck with every living thing’s DNA or destroying the fuckers at the cost of all tech… like the Geth and EDI would all die. I totally did not go through all that shit on Rannoch for nothing and well… EDI is EDI, I could kill her about as much as I could have shot Wrex back on Virmire, or Kaidan during the coup.”

When Garrus didn’t say anything, she laughed nervously, “I’ll totally understand if you decide to run away screaming.”

He grunted, “I’ll get to that as soon as you let me stand.” But he placed a hand on her leg and looked into her glowing eyes, “Shepard. I don’t care, I’m still processing that you’re _here_ and so far each process has been telling me that’s damn _fine_. The stupid little reasons can go figure themselves out.” His face contorted into the Turian equivalent of a smirk. “Besides, can you think of anything better than telling people that your girlfriend is that Vanguard of our Destruction?”

Shepard pushed at him playfully, but her heart was not behind the gesture. “Well that’s probably the main reason I went and got myself a new body built. I need something to keep me grounded, so that the fracking ruthless calculus doesn’t take over. Considering how long the first Intelligence was around… I might be around a while.” _A damn long ‘while’_. “So,” she sighed, “this is my keep-Shepard-human-and-prove-the-Catalyst-wrong-again plan.”

“You might want to abbreviate that.”

“Work-in-progress, but hear me out…” she hesitated again; clearly she was struggling with something.

“I don’t want to – I _can’t_ do this alone. Liara might be around for a while, but at some point I’ll be alone…. Shit, like that will distort my views. I _need_ something – _someone_ to keep me grounded.” She took a breath, _again_. “Garrus, will you upload and rule the galaxy with me?”

Neither spoke, they just looked at each other, Shepard’s eyes, despite their nature, betraying her _need_ for an answer. It came, starting as a rumble deep in the Turian’s chest, growing until it burst forth and he laughed, winced and laugh louder, winced again, only causing him to laugh again. “Shit Shepard, I’ve told you not to make me laugh.”

“I’m serious!”

Garrus wiped his eyes, both pain and laughter having brought forth tears. “Shepard,” he caught his breath, “are you _proposing_ to me?”

 

 


	2. MORTALITY. ETERNITY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, another chapter.
> 
> So MaryDragon recently reread and re-commented on this work, so I decided to write this to annoy her some more, because the next update will probably also be in like two years.
> 
> Also: Happy Birthday Caek!

“Well...shit.”

He watched as the implications of what she had asked dawned on her. First her look was surprised, moving quickly, through thoughtfulness into joy, until apprehension creeped up like an ominous shadow. He watched as she nervously bit her lip and shot him glances that each time tried to look at anything else, yet still found their way back to him.

He decided to intervene before she said anything foolish in, what would soon be, if it was not already, a panic.

“If-” he overrode her attempt to start saying something, “if you think that I’ll let you dodge that date at the bar without me, you are sorely misinformed.” He held up a hand to silence her again before continuing, “I….” He breathed in, and out, trying to calm himself as the thoughts flying through his head moved faster than he could analyse and decide how he felt about them. “I would have gone through the Reaper invasion any number of times. Even with all the losses and the pain of not knowing what had happened to my family. Even with the threat of losing you increasing every day, for the smallest chance to maybe be able to see, hear, smell, _touch_ you again after all this time. Spirits preserve me, I would even have endured your death as many times as would be required, only to have you back in the end.”

His eyes had moved down from her face, to where she was holding the hand that had cupped her cheek, resting on her folded leg. When he looked back up, the apprehension was gone, replaced by a mischievous smirk. It was an expression far more suited to her than any of the hard lines of determination that had defined her for nearly all the time he had known her. It had been hints of this look, trying to break through, that had convinced him that this woman had not been made for war, but in spite of it.

“Well I’ll be damned. If that wasn’t a ‘yes’ worthy of Shakespeare, I don’t know what it was.”

Suddenly glad that Turians were incapable of this thing humans called ‘blushing,’ he tried to wave aside her remark. “Whatever Shepard. In the end a yes is a yes.” He gently squeezed her hand, as if the action would convey his will for her to realise that he would do anything for her. With her.

He could not tell in the darkened room exactly how she had done it, but she was no longer sitting at his side looking demure. Instead, soft wet lips were on his hard, dry ones. He had never understood the significance of this gesture that prevailed in human and asari cultures. One that seemed to be a key factor in their methods of coupling. That he could not reciprocate the warm, lush sensation he experienced every time she claimed his mouth had in fact been one of the main deterrents from trying to, at first, pursue a relationship with a human, this human. But she seemed not to have cared after he’d admitted his own insecurities that first night. He could feel the hot - alive - breath mingling with his own and reveled in how she embraced his rougher, but more agile tongue, with her own.

“Mmmmhh,” she sighed into his mouth, just before pulling back a bit to lean her forehead to his. “Good, I like yesses.”

She angled her head a bit lower to look him into the eyes. Hers seemed more muted now, not glowing as powerfully as before and he found himself missing the sage they had been….

“Thank you…” she mumbled, closing her eyes to his. She stood up and turned to face the wall he knew was actually a discrete wardrobe, but her posture screamed that she was struggling with something more. Something else she would struggle to say aloud unless it was by urging or blunder.

“Why does it feel like you’re thanking me for something I’m probably not aware of, using an awfully fatalistic-feeling method.”

“Garrus, I can’t-”

“Shepard, what is it?” His tone was sharp now, honed not by anger, but by the hint of hurt that had creeped into his voice.

Shepard had begun pacing the length of the room but stopped to face him at his question.

“Garrus…” her voice was low enough that he had to strain to hear her, “you’re _dying_.”

~o~

_Wake up! Shepard, can you hear me? The facility is under attack…_

_You can’t predict how people will act, but you can control how you’ll respond._

_Just look after your dad for me…_

_I’m sorry Mom, I tried!_

_Do you think you’ll get away with this? Kill me and everyone dies!_

_Someone else in my shoes might say they’re not paid to think, but no - I think the only one dying here today will be you.._

_It’s all right Commander, you know it’s the right thing to do._

_It’s been an honour serving with you Gunnery Chief Williams._

_Wake up! Shepard, can you hear me? The facility is under attack…_

_Cerberus? What the fuck made you think I’d work with Neo-Nazi terrorists?_

_Don’t. Move. I’m the only thing standing between you and a new vent to cool your dumbass brain._

_Just...fine, he can go._

_Shepard, incoming transmission from the Illusive Man…_

_How about you use this for the betterment of Humanity: I quit._

_Prepare for the Arrival._

_We fight, or we die._

_That’s it, that’s your plan?_

_There is a realm of existence so far beyond your own, you cannot even imagine it. We simply are, you wither and die._

_We are your salvation, the end of everything. You exist because we allow it and you will end, because we demand it._

_We are waiting._

…

Commander Eris Shepard opened her eyes.

She looked around, thinking that although she _should_ be feeling groggy after having slept too long, she was decidedly _not_. Though there was still something definitely wrong. She was standing, but it felt as though she was upside-down. Something was messing with her sense of balance and doing a bloody good job of it.

Her surroundings were...odd. She knew she should have labeled them as alien, but there was something inherently familiar about it all. As if she was coming back to the house of a childhood friend who she had not seen since her earliest years. It was all fascinatingly strange, but in a “yes, that’s right” kind of way.

She was on the inside of a giant triangular prism whose walls were made of a cream-coloured material that had a texture too small for her to identify. Branching out of the prism were tens if not hundreds of smaller tunnels, also triangular in shape. Everything was suffused with not-quite sterile light that banished all shadows, causing everything to have an oddly flat look.

_Wake up._

The room shook as the voice emanated from all directions at once. The voice of the Catalyst, the voice of Harbinger, the voice of Sovereign, the voice of Leviathan, the voice of countless human colonists, and the voice of trillions of bygone souls.

Shepard realised that her sense of balance was distorted as it was because, while she was trained in and used to zero-g, she was standing on the surface of the prism as if gravity were pulling her onto it. She was also immediately annoyed at the words used to address her.

“Is that a greeting now?”

_No._

“Very well, but as you can see, I’m awake.” _That is, if it_ can _see._

_Resistance is futile._

“Futile?” she asked the chamber in general, looking around and noticing that her voice sounded oddly flat, with no echo despite the cavernous space. _Shit, was it a trap? Did the Catalyst lie?_

_You who resisted the longest, the hardest, now stands here. You have joined us in ascension. You have become a part of the cycle._

“Like hell!” she shouted, breaking a little inside at how even her shout seemed to lose all effect as it left her lungs. A terrible sensation was spreading through her being. The great foe that had hounded her all her life. The one thing she constantly attempted to defy the most. Fear. “I intend to turn this one around.”

Despite her words, the sensation did not go away. Instead it grew as more and more thoughts occurred to her. She did not even know where she was, let alone her enemy. How could she hope to do anything? Was there even anything left to fight for? How much time had passed since she had gripped the glowing console? Was she even still alive?

She recalled the pain of breathing with several cracked, if not broken, ribs. She recalled the pain where she had not been burned badly enough to lose all feeling. She recalled the dull throb of bruising that her entire body ached with with each beat of her heart. She recalled as the bright lights of the Catalyst’s platform stabbed through her eyes into the back of her skull, how her vision swam, trying to focus through concussion and tears. She recalled as electricity arced from the console causing her back to arch and teeth to clamp. She recalled the smell of her own burnt flesh, hair and armour.

It’s only pain.

She closed her eyes and sat down, crossing her legs, leaning on her knees with her elbows. For once the position did not have her joints complaining as soon as she assumed it, which solidified her theories all the more.

She could be dead, and this was the most insidious version of Hell, but since it hardly seemed like it was worse than what she could imagine, she almost immediately wrote that one off. She might be having a _really_ bad dream. She might have gone insane. Or, she might have merged with the Reaper consciousness, though not in control as the Catalyst had promised. _Insanity seems the most likely, but acting like you’re insane when you’re stuck in it won’t help anything._

She opened her eyes and looked at the floor beneath her again, brushing it slowly with one hand. Its pattern rippled strangely, but the texture did not change. Fear seemed to grip her gut tighter than a hungry varren. So she did the one thing she had always done in the face of fear: ignored it.

Her features shifted into a confident smirk that even she did not know whether it was genuine. “No.”

_No?_

“No.”

Shepard used an arm to push herself up; she looked around again. Nothing had changed. The place still looked like a triangular labyrinth. “You claim victory, even though something happened that has never happened. Someone entered the Intelligence. The Cycle is broken.”

_Meaningless details. The Cycle will resume. The organics will be harvested and we will return to the darkness to wait once more._

“You really think it’s that easy, don’t you? Not very Synthetic of you. A friend once told me that an answer of 00000, would lead to something entirely different from 00001.”

_Binary. Values of true and false. We supersede the requirement for machine code, the crutch of organic computational construction._

Shepard nodded to herself; she understood machine code, it was one of the most basic elements of being a Techie. “Yes, but let us use it for this analogy. With me, instead of being a simple change of variable, being a drop of water onto the circuit.”

_You are no longer a physical entity; your body is ash and dust. You have no power here. You are nothing._

“Ah, but that’s where you’re no longer merely Synthetic. That’s how I know you’re no longer an artificial intelligence, but a full-fledged intelligence.”

_How?_

“You’re now perfectly capable of being _wrong_.” She held her hands to her sides, the smirk never leaving her lips. “Assuming direct control.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you that want to suffer (as I did - my throat dried up) through hearing me read the first chapter: [Go Here](http://e153n.tumblr.com/post/130946101958/something-that-happened-as-a-result-of-terrible)
> 
> ####  Please leave a comment if you enjoyed this, the more comprehensive the better. If not, please also leave a comment detailing why. I aim to grow.  
>  ლ,ᔑ•ﺪ͟͠•ᔐ        〆(・∀・＠)  
> 


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